


A Way To Relieve Tension

by Lykegenia



Series: Rosslyn Cousland [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Blow Jobs, Confident Alistair, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Foreplay, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 04:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lykegenia/pseuds/Lykegenia
Summary: In which Alistair discovers oral sex





	A Way To Relieve Tension

**Author's Note:**

> Alistair's first blowjob was requested by andrastini over on tumblr, and I went with it. This is by far the most pornographic thing I have ever written - you have been warned!

“Is that really necessary?” Alistair scowled at Zevran.

He had agreed to sparring, thinking that a bit of practice with his sword might ease the frustration that gripped him every time he looked towards the mountain peak and saw the spires of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, so close yet still a full day’s hike away. After all, having set up camp early, and seen to the firewood and the tents, there was little else to occupy the time. Most of the others had gone off to find their own amusement, and Oghren had already drunk himself into a stupor inside his tent, so there weren’t many alternatives.

What Alistair had not agreed to was Zevran taking his shirt off.

“I don’t know,” the Antivan answered with an amused look over Alistair’s shoulder. “Is it?”

He turned and followed Zevran’s gaze to where Rosslyn sat, playing a game of snatch-the-stick with Cuno as she chatted to Leliana about something he was too far away to hear. She had let her hair down, and was dressed in only a thin linen shirt that she had opened at the collar to try and combat the fuggy heat of the day. The corner of Alistair’s mouth twitched when she smiled.

“Rosslyn!” Zevran called, grinning like a cat. “What do you think?”

She turned. “About what?”

“I was just saying to Alistair that he would be much more comfortable to spar bare-chested,” the Antivan replied. “Sitting of an evening in damp, pungent clothing is rather distasteful, no?”

Rosslyn glanced between the two of them, a bemused cant to her expression as she considered how to answer. “You have a point, Zev,” she conceded eventually, though her eyes were on Alistair. “But the discomfort wouldn’t be yours.” She dropped her gaze, a private smile touching her lips at the image of Alistair sparring shirtless with the sun rippling across the same muscles she nightly traced with her fingers, but she wouldn’t push for it. She knew the Chantry’s lectures on modesty well, and the Revered Mothers at the templar school had been cruel. Still when they were alone, the idea of casual nakedness warred with his insecurities, and though she delighted in chasing the ghosts away, her heart ached to think he had been taught to feel so uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Do you know what?” Alistair announced, breaking her out of her reverie. “I think you’re right, it is a bit too hot, isn’t it?” His face flushed crimson, but he gave no other sign of his embarrassment as he drew his shirt over his head. The lines in his shoulders bunched and stretched as he bent to pick up his practice sword, subtle flecks of movement across a broad frame made lean by months of travel, the freckles on his back rolling like splashes of sea foam when he tested the balance of the weapon.

She knew the feel of that skin under her hands, the power of the sinews beneath them. As he stepped up to trade the first few blows with Zevran, her memory flickered with images from the previous night, overwhelming sensation, Alistair sweat-slick and mantled above her, hand bruising at her hip, pressing encouragement into her neck as he loved her with every ounce of his passion. She tried to concentrate on his form as he fought – his footwork was good, his stance balanced against the swing of his shield – but doing so only drew her eye to the bow-curve of his thighs, the lithe curl of his abdominals as he blocked a strike.

“So,” an amused voice sang behind her, “how is Alistair?”

Rosslyn jumped, her cheeks burning scarlet. “What – uh… I’m not sure what you mean.”

Leliana smirked. “I think you do. Alistair, and you… those long nights. He must be quite delightful.” The smile softened. “You wouldn’t be so happy otherwise, I think.”

Blindsided by the bluntness of the statement – the candid delivery – Rosslyn could only gape at her friend, mind blank of any reasonable response. Sometimes she forgot the former chantry sister was also a former bard, but looking now at the calculated innocence on those fine features as the blue gaze turned to observe the sparring match, the older woman’s past was clear to see. 

“He’s athletic,” Leliana commented. “That’s always nice. He is also good at following instructions, isn’t he?”

“He has some of his own ideas,” Rosslyn answered before she could stop herself. “That is… I’m not sure I should be talking about this.”

“If not with me, then with whom? You are my friend, and I enjoy seeing you happy.”

“I – I suppose I am happy.” There was a time she had thought to never feel so again.

“Oh, but it is fascinating.” The teasing smirk was back. “The little templar is all grown up and apparently…” Leliana cleared her throat, “he plays well with others. Or maybe,” she added, seeing the way the younger woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “he is not so little?”

“ _That does it._ ”

Her cheeks flaming, Rosslyn pushed to her feet and crossed the camp towards her tent, without any clear goal in mind except to get away from her friend’s fluting, stifled laughter.

“What are you giggling about?” Alistair’s voice, calling across from the sparring field.

One of Zevran’s daggers jabbed into his armpit. “Aha! You are dead, my friend.”

Alistair ignored him, too busy glancing between the two women, Leliana trying to hide laughter behind her hand, and Rosslyn, fists clenched, teeth gritted in a scowl like granite. “W-what is she giggling about?” he tried again.

“Nothing,” Rosslyn snapped, with a glare over her shoulder. “Darkspawn.”

“Yes, of course,” he agreed slowly. “Very funny, those darkspawn.”

Still holding onto his practice weapons, he drifted towards his fellow Warden, wanting to ease her obvious discomfort but without any clear idea what was wrong – though he had a sneaking suspicion about the subject that had brought such colour to her face. Before he could reach out to her, however, Wynne and Morrigan emerged from the trees, Wynne with a basket full of late ramsons and Morrigan with a brace of young rabbits draped over her shoulder.

“We’ll need some water for the stew,” Wynne instructed without preamble as she laid her basket next to the fire.

Rosslyn snatched up the waterskin. “I’ll go. Alistair, weren’t you saying you found a stream when you were collecting firewood earlier?”

“Huh? Oh, yes, it’s just over…” He faltered at the significant look she shot him. “You know what? It might be better to show you.”

He didn’t miss the knowing glances passed between their companions as he followed her out of the camp.

She was almost to the trees by the time he caught up with her, her back ramrod straight and her hands white-knuckled in barely contained fury, a contrast to the scarlet flared across her cheeks.

“Are you alright? Hey…”

He caught her hand to make her stop. There were tears in the corner of her eyes, tears caused by whatever words Leliana used that stung her noble’s pride, and that humiliation in itself kept Rosslyn’s gaze directed at the ground, away from him. Understanding, he stepped closer, brushing soothing fingers up the back of her arm, inviting her into his embrace. She went with a short huff of breath, folding herself against his bare chest and the strength to be found there, still clinging to the waterskin as she wrapped her arms around his neck. By slow degrees, the stress eased out of her muscles, her frown replaced with a slow smile as he teased fingers through her hair.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, when she felt him draw breath beneath her ear. “It’s just… I know it’s because they care, and Maker knows there’s little enough gossip to keep everyone’s minds off the Blight, but…” She buried her head deeper in Alistair’s neck. “They’re all so _interested_ in us.”

“Well, we are very interesting people.” He chuckled, but the humour fell flat. “I know what you mean,” he confessed. “It seems these days not a conversation goes by that doesn’t end in advice, or some dire warning about the end of the world, or – or something just plain lewd. Do you know, the other day Oghren asked me what I do with your legs?”

“What?”

“That was my reaction! I…” He faltered, leaning away to stroke a nervous hand through his hair. “I didn’t know I was supposed to do anything with them – I mean, not that I don’t like your legs – actually I like them a lot. I – _hah_ – I _really_ like it when they’re wrapped around me, when we’re… caboodling. I love how strong you are.”

The last traces of Rosslyn’s bad mood vanished as he peeked sidelong from under his eyelashes to see her reaction, looking at once so hopeful and abashed she had to bite her lip to keep her grin from spreading into outright laughter. He whispered much dirtier things in her ear when he got carried away during their lovemaking, but the shy praise in his tone held a fondness that made her stomach flutter.

“I could say the same,” she told him, smoothing calloused palms over his biceps. “I was enjoying watching you earlier.”

Alistair’s fingers found the hem of her shirt. “Were you now?”

He leaned down. She met him halfway in a kiss, light and soft, but with a tease of something more daring as deft touches inched higher and found her bare skin. A shiver tickled up her spine, bringing a breath of laughter to her lips that Alistair stole with a flick of his tongue.

“Where was that stream?” she asked him as she stretched up on tiptoes for better access to his mouth.

He groaned, raked blunt nails higher up her back. “Just a little further down the hill.”

“You know,” she purred, “our friends probably won’t expect us back for a while.”

With a gasp, he pulled away, his expression arranged into a mockery of outrage. “Lady Cousland, I never. Did you ask me to accompany you out here just so you could get me _alooooone_?”

“And what if I did?”

Hands settled back at her waist. “It worked.”

Before she could respond, he was kissing her again, hot presses of his mouth that curled against her tongue, begging a response she was all too happy to give. Feeling coursed through her limbs in a heady rush, excitement that was still new and tingled in her arms and legs and clenched in her belly. Under her hands, the sparse hair of his chest prickled, dried sweat sticky against her palms and the languid summer air sweet against the flesh exposed as he worked her shirt higher. It got in the way as he lifted it over her head and she whined at the interruption and the way it tangled her arms.

“We’ll get it on the way back,” he mumbled as he cast it aside.

A stick cracked under her boot, or maybe it was the waterskin dropping to the forest floor. Alistair’s mouth lowered to her jaw, her neck, his hands guiding as he backed her against a nearby tree. The mossy trunk grazed her back, soft but cool enough to make her jump, and she gasped. With something to pin her against now, he ground against her hips, groaning, hands and mouth roving as he let her feel exactly how much he wanted her.

Rosslyn grinned against his hair. Her nails dug into his shoulders, seeking purchase, and now she dragged them down, over his chest, over the sensitive places she had discovered on their nights since that first in Bhelen’s palace. The sensations she drew from him left him panting, forgetting that he should be touching her, and though she couldn’t see she imagined the small ‘o’ of his mouth, the tight frown of pleasure her movements painted over his face. His hips twitched when her fingers trailed below his navel and found his cock, hot and hard within the confines of his breeches.

The sound of her name breathed against her skin made her dizzy; skin to skin, the sharp tang of male sweat and musk made her bold.

“You know there is one thing,” murmured as she palmed his length with measured, lazy strokes. “Something Zev told me you might like.”

A wordless growl rumbled through Alistair’s chest, banishing Zevran’s name. He still remembered the way the Antivan had looked at Rosslyn in the first days he travelled with them, and it woke a possessive desire to command all of her attention. He forced his mind away from the work of her hand and back to her body, to the lines and curves within his reach. Her breasts filled the confines of their band, the nipples stiff enough to stand out beneath the fabric, and as he rolled one between his fingertips his other hand wandered down, caressing ribs and toned muscle until he found the back of her thigh, and squeezed, and pressed his hips against the new angle as her leg raised and wrapped around his waist.

“Not interested.”

A breathless chuckle in his ear. “I think you will be – _unh…_ ” She braced an arm against the tree, the same one she had been using to tease him. “I was – was wondering if you…” She licked her lips, leaned into his neck to be sure she was heard. “I could use my mouth.”

Alistair stilled. Every nerve tensed, the grip on her waist bruising, his hair damp with sweat and rough against the softness of her skin.

“You… you want to…?”

“If you like,” she answered with a bashful smile, unable to quite meet his gaze. “Call me… curious.”

“You wouldn’t think me a lecher?” he asked.

She looked up in alarm. “No, why?”

“Because… I’ve been thinking about it too.” Trembling fingers brushed along her jaw. “What you taste like, what it might be like to… to do that. To you.”

Frozen, Rosslyn could only stare, the current press of their bodies a distant feeling as her mind tried to comprehend the image of her lover low between her legs, grinning, holding her apart as his tongue lapped against her, devoured her.

“Uh…” She had to close her eyes. His breath fanned warm against her cheek, adding to the distraction of knuckles feathering over the ticklish skin of her ribs.

“I don’t think you’re a lecher,” she managed eventually. “That sounds… I’d like to try.”

“Oh?” He beamed at her as he leaned in again. “Good.”

She whimpered at the feel of the kiss, the savour of nerves fired and tingling with heat as Alistair’s weight pushed her steadily against the tree, but still she threaded her fingers into his hair and tugged to get him to expose his neck. He granted her access with a sigh and she tasted salt, kissing, sucking and biting her way along his jaw and down the stark tendons of his neck. When she tried to dip below the line of his collarbone, he pulled away again.

“You want to do it now?” he checked, in a voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

“Mmm.” She nipped at his shoulder. “There’s no one to interrupt us. Do you want me to?”

A strangled noise escaped him at the way her free hand angled against the erection still confined in his breeches. “Maker, you’re impossible. Yes.” He braced himself against the tree, pushing back to give Rosslyn space to kneel in front of him, his gaze fixed on her as she moved lower.

She took her time. Her hands ran before her mouth, teasing over the subtle contours of his body, chest and taut ribs and the shallow, straight divot of muscle that drew a line down to his navel. The contrast of the cool moss at her back and the heat of him in front of her stoked the thunder in her ears as she finally slid to her knees and glanced upwards. Alistair’s pupils had blown wide. He chewed his lips together as she found the knot holding his breeches closed.

After that, she had to concentrate, and pulled her eyes away. With a few deft movements his sword belt unbuckled, the laces beneath it came loose, and the new slack enough to let her curl her fingers into the waistband of his breeches. He jolted where her nails grazed him, and she flicked her gaze up again as she levered the material down over broad, muscular thighs, taking in the expanse of flushed skin, heaving breath, and the way the tendons of his neck bulged as he craned down to watch her.

Fingers brushed the back of her neck, tenderly pulled aside her hair, finding the inch of skin first discovered when they were in the Deep Roads and couldn’t afford closer intimacy. She pressed her thighs together, basking in the heat the touch sent through her limbs. Her own arousal at the prospect of what she was about to do was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

“Are you alright?” she asked. His knees were shaking.

“This is…” He groaned. “You haven’t even touched me yet. You – you look so beautiful like that.”

“Flatterer.”

Keeping one hand braced on his thigh, she slid the other up to stroke him through his smalls. The outline of his erection lay long and thick under the fabric, hot under her skin, the musk of him richer than the scent at his neck, more compelling, drawing her closer until she placed a kiss against him. He jumped. The hand in her hair tightened.

“Alistair?” She glanced up again, worried, only to find him biting into his own shoulder where it was braced against the tree.

“Haa- _aaah_ – Please don’t stop.”

Transfixed, she kept her gaze on him as she unwrapped him from his last layer, marvelling at how his eyes squeeze shut, how every bit of him shakes, how this vulnerability is her doing, her power over him. She might hurt him if she did it wrong. She loosed an unsteady breath at the thought.

“ _Rosslyn!_ ”

Confusion made her pause; suspicion brought a smirk to her lips. She blew cool air over his cock again, deliberately this time, and with a hissed curse he twitched in her hand. A bead of clear liquid gathered on the very tip. Unable to resist, she tilted forward and captured it on her tongue, turning the gesture into a kiss as she registered the taste of him, bright and bitter at the same time. He whined. The thigh under her hand tightened like steel.

“Alistair.”

His eyes had fallen shut, but at the repeated sound of his name he looked down, eyes glazed as she licked her lips.

“Yes?”

He tried to speak but the sound caught in his throat, so he nodded instead.

She held him steady just below the head, ridges like velvet against her sword-worn palm. Her cheeks flamed, but he was watching her and the pound of her heart urged her on. The noise he made when she wrapped her lips around him was almost a sob. Encouraged, she took him further, careful of her teeth, the taste of him pressed to the back of her mouth as her tongue tried to fit itself around him. The sensation made him jerk.

“S-sorry,” he groaned as she gagged and pulled away.

“Don’t be.”

“If – if you want –”

“Do _you_ want me to stop?” she asked.

He bit his lip again, fighting with himself. “Maker no, it feels so good.”

“Good.” She pressed her free hand to his hip. “Just… try to keep still.”

His hand left her hair to twine with her fingers, his grip a reassurance as well as a brace as she started again, trailing wet kisses up the length of his cock. When she closed around him again, he groaned but kept still, cautious of triggering the reflex again. Her hand worked to match the slide of her mouth, building up a rhythm until Alistair’s moans climbs into gasps and praise tumbled off his lips between sharp little hitches in breath. She let the sounds guide her, determined to ignore the heat building between her own legs as she worked him with gaining confidence, swirls of her tongue and hollow sucks that should have been obscene.

“Yes – _ah_ –” Tension spiked through him, the strain of holding himself back – “There – like that – _ohhhhh_ …”

She chanced a look upward, without thinking about the change in angle. Teeth grazed skin and he convulsed with a roar, knees buckling, trying to pull himself away to avoid collapsing on Rosslyn. But his legs caught in his breeches and he tripped backwards, stumbled on a root, found his mind reeling as he toppled over backwards.

When his thoughts righted themselves he found himself staring at the summer canopy above, the last blazing trails of pleasure fading to the sharp pain of whatever had knocked against his skull as he fell. At first, he thought the laughter echoing through his ears must be a side effect.

“Rosslyn…?” he called when his senses finally caught up with him.

“It went in my eye.”

He clawed himself up to his elbows, shaky and scarlet-faced. Rosslyn kneeled before him, wiping the back of one hand over her mouth while the other rubbed at her eye, raven-black hair awry, dressed in nothing more than her breast band and breeches, completely unconscious of the picture she made.

“That ended less elegantly than it does in the Randy Dowager,” she mused with a wrinkle of her nose. “Are you alright?”

“Huh?”

She chuckled again. “You _fell over_.”

Still fogged, Alistair glanced down at himself, at the spatters of tacky white spend across his stomach and the leaf mould clinging to the backs of his arms – and the rumpled breeches around his knees, with his softening cock poking from its nest of pubic hair. Rosslyn crawled the short distance towards him, her sword dragging at her side through the dry leaves. He could only watch, struck dumb as she curved a gentle hand along his cheek, her hair falling like a curtain to close off the world, her eyes full of a worry he was eager to chase away.

Linking their fingers, he kissed the inside of her wrist.

“I love you so much.”

Her gaze dropped to her lap to hide the nervous twitch of her mouth. “That good?”

He leaned up further and kissed her. The taste of himself in her mouth made something stir in his belly, but he pushed the thought away for later.

“That was incredible,” he reassured her instead. “Are _you_ alright?”

“I’m alright. I – I can’t quite believe I did that.” When he seemed unconvinced, she brought his knuckle to her lips. “I’m fine. Really. I… enjoyed it.”

It was the truth. Though the last shame from her upbringing burned on her cheeks, she had enjoyed the act, the intimacy of it and the way she had made him fall apart with such simple touches.

Alistair nudged her cheek, the corner of her brow. “So did I,” he assured. “And I’d very much like to return the favour.”

“Is that so?” She giggled. “Right now, we should probably go and find that stream, before someone comes looking for us.”

Looking down at himself again, Alistair nodded his agreement. “And finds us.”

With another giggle, Rosslyn stood and went to retrieve their scattered belongings, while he did his best to clean himself off. He couldn’t help watching her, or grinning when she passed his sword belt into still-shaky fingers.

“Come on,” she told him before he could say anything. “Before Wynne has an excuse to scold us for making dinner late.”

With a shake of his head, he buckled on his sword belt and followed.


End file.
